


the ancient rite of hospitality

by callmearcturus



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: (as much as Nilanjana is an 'outsider' to Carlos anyway), Domestic Fluff, M/M, Mundane Heroics, POV Outsider, character vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 10:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19060588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmearcturus/pseuds/callmearcturus
Summary: Nilanjana meets Cecil Palmer on an incongruously rainy day when she needs a place to hide after being caught using a pen. To keep stay out of a detention cell, she is forced to go home with her boss and his boyfriend. Together, the three of them navigate the treacherous terrain of an impromptu shared dinner.It's not the worst fate to befall an interloper. Still pretty awkward though.





	the ancient rite of hospitality

**Author's Note:**

> This is just something I've been pecking away at since I read _It Devours!_ and fell in love with Nilanjana and how much she cares about Carlos. Best Science Friends. 
> 
> This takes place after Carlos returns from the Desert Otherworld but before "Toast." I imagine it around the middle of Season Four, maybe.

Nilanjana's life had been in danger many times since she moved to Night Vale. A week going by without an episode of deep, physical abiding terror seizing her being was more of an aberration than major disasters. Earthquakes announcements were announced on the radio beforehand and available on the community calendar.

She learned to cope with the terror, until the heightened heartrate and running for her life seemed part of her regular exercise. Not that it translated to better fitness, per se.

But the point was that the emotional fallout of these events had rarely hit her. In the rush and the subsequent exhaustion, she rarely lingered on the turmoil _during_ events. Instead, she survived, and then slept for fourteen hours straight to recover, rising from sleep with something like a hangover, only left from trauma and inertia.

The first time something broke through and struck her with a more personal fear, it was comparatively speaking something much more mundane that Night Vale's worst offerings. 

It was raining.

The rain itself was not the thing that instilled the fear in her. Rain was rain, even if it was exceedingly rare in Night Vale. She had no problem with basic precipitation.

But the rain made her think of something else, about the invisible flood that had maybe threatened the town a few weeks back. They still weren't sure; reports had been quite severe, but hard to verify.

She thought of a solution for next time, if there happened to be a next time. Taking out a pen, she jotted a note in her little flipbook, a reminder to bring it up to Carlos later. Then, she purchased an umbrella from the store, and braved the rain.

It was the end of the day, and she planned to walk home. Once she was inside the relative safety of her apartment, she would be able to properly enjoy the weather as it beat soothingly on her window. Already, she was looking forward to the deeper sleep that such potent white noise could impart.

She'd walked three blocks before a sense of wrongness crept up her spine. It wasn't the usual Night Valean wrongness she was growing attuned to. This extra sensory warning pre-dated her tenure in this city.

What tingled anxious heat in her skin was the more prosaic fear of being followed on her way home in the dark. Not as exciting as mind controlling glow clouds or preternaturally compelling WALK signs, but in a way much more visceral to her.

In Indiana, she would be comforted by the can of pepper spray on her keychain, and how it fit in her palm. In Night Vale, personal mace was illegal, though firearms were not. And she didn't really like guns.

Nilanjana elected to take a sharp turn down the next street, giving her a chance to see who was following her.

For a second, she was relieved. The person following her had a Secret Police badge on that glinted from the light of the lampposts.  
Her relief soon faded. This was better than some of the alternatives but still solidly not _good._

Quickening her steps, Nilanjana took out her phone and hit her most dialed contact. She feared he might've already left the lab and gone home for the night, but Carlos picked up on the second ring.

"Hey, Nilanjana," Carlos said warmly over the line. He sounded tired but cheerful. "I thought you went home already. What's up?"

"I'm being tailed," Nilanjana said, voice pitched low. "I don't know why, but a member of the Secret Police is following me."

"Oh no!" He tsk'ed softly. "That is a bad end to what I believe was a pretty nice day."

"I think it was too!" Nilanjana glanced behind her, just enough to verify she was still being followed. The Secret Police officer was getting closer. "I don't know what they want and while I have great respect for scientific curiosity, I don't think I want to know!"

"A very fair assessment. Hm. Where are you?"

She looked around, and spotted the road sign. "Grant and Obsidian."

"Okay. Okay." Carlos breathed deeply, as if he were trying to calm himself from being in danger. He was safe in the lab! Nilanjana frowned. "Keep heading north, then cut east on Almond Street. I suggest running, if you can."

It would be difficult, with the rain and her shoes with their small but not insignificant heels. "Alright, and then?"

"Run three blocks down Almond, then take a sharp right, and go into the first doors." He inhaled deeply through his nose. "Got it?"

"Three blocks, sharp right, first doors." When she peeked again, the police officer was perilously close. "Shit, gotta go," she said, and cut the call.

Shoving her phone into her bag, she drew the strap over her head so it sat crossbody and more secure. Then, she threw her umbrella to the ground and started to run.

Nilanjana was soaked in moments, the rain still coming down in sheets. Deserts never got light showers, only downpours. The sound of water striking the world was loud, enough she couldn't tell if what she was hearing was someone's feet pounding the ground behind her or if it was just her heartbeat in her ears.

The short heels were a terrible idea; she lost one as she ran, and so kicked off the other one. It flew off somewhere, to never be seen again. The ground would have been unbearably hot to run on any other day. Now, she sprinted through puddles, wincing whenever her toes landed awkwardly on the ground.

But no one had clapped a hand on her shoulder. Not yet. She ran, and swung that right Carlos told her to.

The first doors were up a short row of steps, and then she shoved her way into the Night Vale Community Radio Station.

It was momentum as much as anything that kept her going, running down the long, dimly lit corridor. The air was heavy in here, not like the dampness outside, but with a strange quiet, as if the building muffled all noises. Even the slap of her wet feet seemed too quiet.

She could still hear the door behind open. She didn't need to look back to see who it was. She continued to run.

Most of the rooms she passed were bloodstone, annoyingly enough. She didn't have a pocket knife ready to get through any of them, so she continued down the winding hallway as it twisted and round around in strange, circuitious ways. She felt more than once like her path should have doubled back on itself, but so far it was more of a labyrinth than a maze. Similar in form, completely different in function.

At the end of the hallway was a door, not bloodstone. Above it was a red, illuminated ON AIR sign.

Trusting Carlos had sent her here for this reason, Nilanjana skidded to a halt in front of the door, slowing just enough to turn the handle and push it open just enough to slip inside, squeezing her body through the smallest open angle she could manage. As she tucked herself in, she turned on her heel, carrying the motion through to push the door quietly but firmly shut after herself.

Then, breathing hard, one hand still on the door handle and other planted firmly against the door as if it would immediately burst open, she stopped.  
  
"Community College President Sarah Sultan has updated the list of job offers at the school with a new opening for an astonomy professor. The position is open to anyone with an interest for this fascinating and terrible subject, though applicants with previous experience in education are preferred." 

Covering her mouth to hopefully muffle any of her louder panting noises, Nilanjana turned slowly to the room. She'd heard this voice before, of course, as the local community radio station was often left on in the lab. Often, vital information and forewarning of new disasters reached them first over the airwaves.

But immediately, it was different in person. Without the data loss of FM transmission, Cecil Palmer's voice was somehow impossibly richer, in a way she could feel in the fine bones of her ears. It was the sonic difference between a Hershey's bar and boutique chocolates.

Cecil had half-turned in his chair to watch her as she arrived, brow slightly furrowed in contemplation. His eyes skated over her, taking in her bare feet, the dripping hem of her lab coat, and her winded breaths.

Nervous, she put a finger to her lips.

He continued speaking without a modicum of change in his inflection. "To apply, please contact Dr. Sultan with your academic resume and a list of your favorite cosmological models, ranked by how blasphemous each one is. References from noted astronomers like Stephen Hawkings, Carl Sagan, or Galileo would really get your foot in the door."

After she stood there, dripping on his floor for a few minutes, Cecil gestured to the guest chair. It was rolled half-under the soundboard, but he caught it with his heel and pushed it towards her.

She sank heavily onto it; the chair squeaked, and irrationally she covered her mouth again, as if it were the culprit.

There was a ghost of a smile, a spectre of a headshake as he continued to speak, relaying the traffic report into the microphone.

As she listened to that and a few weekend announcements, Nilanjana tried to wring out her labcoat and then her hair the best she could.

She jumped when there was a tap at the window on the door. Immediately, she scooted her chair back, hopefully out of view of the little square window.

Without faltering through some anecdote about land octopuses, Cecil turned to the door, narrowing his eyes at whoever was on the other side. He reached over to a switch and flicked it a few times: the red ON AIR sign flashed pointedly.

Whoever was at the door did not knock again as he ended the show on a meandering but comforting aphorism, and a final, "Goodnight, Night Vale, goodnight."

After a moment of stillness, he pushed his microphone aside and took off his headphones. "Well, hello there. I don't believe we've met."

Nilanjana stood and offered her hand; by now, it was dry enough to shake. "Nilanjana Sikdar. I'm on Carlos' team. He sent me here for some... shelter, I guess."

Cecil raised his eyebrows. "From the rain or the loyal police officer who wanted to interrupt my show?"

She grimaced. "I don't know why they're following me. I haven't done anything, I was on my way home and--" Oh, god dammit. "Shit."

"Oh?" he asked wryly.

Putting her hand in her pocket, she took out her pen. "I think they saw me jotting a note. I know I should have just texted Carlos, but... sometimes I just miss the kinesthetic pleasure of handwriting."

To her surprise, Cecil plucked the pen from her hand and tossed it into the small wastepaper bin under his desk. "You should consider voice dictation like the rest of us."

She really should.

The door swung open, and a fairly damp member of the Sheriff's Secret Police stood in the doorway. "Nilanjana Sikdar," they intoned gravely.

"Hiiiii," Cecil said, his voice lifting a full octave over the course of one drawn out syllable. He stepped in and smiled at the police officer. "Thanks for waiting, had to wrap up the show! We're kind of in a rush, you know, eager to get home."

Their face was mostly obscured by their balakava, but enough of their eyes were visible to see them narrow. "Cecil Palmer."

"Yep, that's me! Can we walk and talk? I have a _very_ important engagement to get to. We both do!" He held out a hand toward Nilanjana, curling his fingers twice quickly.

She stepped into his range, and he tucked his arm into her elbow. "See, Carlos, my boyfriend? The scientist? Who saved our town _soooo_ many times? Well, he's making dinner, and it's my job to convey Nilanjana to our place so we can go inside and eat the food he's cooking. It's been planned for ages, and we don't want to miss it."

"Right," Nilanjana said. "I've been looking forward to this all week."

"All month!" Cecil laughed.

The police officer did not, but Cecil inched around them, pulling Nilanjana along at his side. 

"Aaaanyway, we'll be going. Both of us. If you have a press release for me, feel free to leave it in the usual deposit box, the one with the teeth. Goodnight!"

Cecil power-walked them both down the hallway, through a bloodstone door Nilanjana had skipped in her previous haste, and out to the back parking lot behind the station.

Even outside, his grip remained firm on her arm. She suspected it'd take serious effort to break free. Normally this would feel somewhat threatening, having a man guide her sternly along and directing her so closely. But there was a rapidity to his steps, a barely contained hurry that kept her going along with it for the moment.

He guided her to the back door of his sedan, and kept a hand on her as he unlocked it and helped her in. The door swung shut, and locked immediately. Child locks. She was secure for the brief time it took for him to throw his bag in the trunk and circle to the driver's side to get in.

As they pulled away, Nilanjana and Cecil both let out twin sighs from deep in their chests.

"Thank you," Nilanjana said.

"I'm always happy to help with science," Cecil said. She didn't think this counted as science, but appreciated the sentiment. "We'll just pick up Carlos and head home. You'll have to stay for dinner to avoid suspicion."

"Oh, I don't want to intrude," she said.

"Mm, but you don't _really_ have a choice in the matter." He looked at her in the rearview mirror briefly. "Try not to worry about it."

 

The drive to the science district was short, and made further so by the weather. Few people in Night Vale felt confident driving in the rain. Or, they felt even less in control of themselves in their vehicles than usual. Enough so, that minutes had passed before the car pulled up alongside the doors to the lab.

Carlos emerged, lingering under the metal awning long enough to lock up behind himself before nearly diving into the car to escape the downpour. 

"Wow, it's been coming down for a while, huh? How long is this scheduled for?"

Cecil caught the collar of Carlos' labcoat and pulled him in until he was close enough for a brisk peck on the cheek. "Hello, dear."

"Hi, honey. Hey, Nilanjana." Carlos turned in his seat to look at her. His eyes widened. "You are extremely wet."

"Lost my shoes too," she told him gravely. "All over a pen."

"You should use voice dictation."

"So I've been told," she said, a little tartly. 

Carlos didn't seem to pick up on her tone, instead sinking back into his seat and buckling in. The car pulled away from the lot.

Cecil said, "This one isn't on the schedule, so who knows how long it'll last."

"I like rain," Carlos opined softly, his gaze out at the world, through glass and through the sheet of water running down the other side of the glass. "The prospect of flooding is high, though."

"Hm," Cecil hummed. "A flood watch was issued seven minutes ago, but they haven't been able to find it just yet."

Nilanjana squinted at him. "How do you know that?"

"Long story," Carlos answered.

"Oh, is it?" Cecil asked, interested.

"No, not really, but that is the rote answer you are meant to give when a question is asked that is too complicated to get into." He smiled apologetically. "Maybe another time, we can hypothesize on it."

"It's really not complicated at all," Cecil said. "I'm a reporter."

"I know, honey," Carlos said, rubbing Cecil's arm. "You're a vegetarian, right, Nils?"

"Yes. Sorry, I know this is an unexpected intrusion," she said.

"Don't worry about it. There are far more important and terrible things to worry about almost all the time. Making a bigger portion of veggies isn't one of them," Carlos told her kindly. "I'll just prep more food when we get home. Cull and de-vein some more snow peas."

 

  
Soon, they arrived, and Nilanjana noticed they'd been tailed. A black van parked just up the street, around the corner, its lights off despite the rain. Briefly, they discussed logistics, and decided Cecil would escort Nilanjana inside; as a natural citizen, he was moderately safer from the Secret Police than the scientists.

Carlos got their bags and followed as Cecil again held her elbow tightly, as if half-expecting a stiff wind or a dangling hook from a helicopter to grab her and whisk her away. This time, she put her hand on his, pretending it was to reassure him when really, she was nervous.

Carlos waved to the black van before all of them ducked inside the house.

Cecil let go immediately and cut the side of his palm, locking the door with a touch of blood to the stone lock.

"Phew!" He clapped his hands. "Okay. That was exciting. I would invite you to take your shoes off and make yourself at home, but."

She winced. "I've already imposed plenty, but could I borrow your shower?"  
  
She could, of course, and Carlos took the time to teach her how to work their shower. "I always get anxious with a new shower," he explained with a meek grin. "Each one is such a weird beast to sort out."

"The mirror is covered?" Nilanjana pointed out. "I'm sorry, has there been a death?"

"Huh? Oh, no. Well, given all likelihoods, yes, but not any personal deaths in our family. His family." Carlos' brow knit close together, like what he'd said had confused him. "Their family, hm, but no, Cecil just gets really anxious around mirrors. You can use it, just re-cover it when you're done."

She nodded in understanding. Carlos hovered for a moment, then seemed to remember himself and quickly left the room. 

 

Nilanjana knew the house was something of a new purchase for her boss and his boyfriend. For a time, Carlos had practically lived out of the lab, on a futon in his office. This made life in the lab difficult; as the head scientist, he obviously got futon priority. More than once, Nilanjana slept with her head in her arms at her lab station, in desperate want of the soft cushion and the granny-square crocheted blanket that lived on the futon. The blanket was a gift from Old Woman Josie, and Nilanjana didn't really believe in the divinity of the angels, but even she wouldn't turn her nose up at a potentially angelic blanket.

But for the past few months, Carlos had a mortgage, and owned a house, and thus didn't spend as many late nights in the lab. This let Nilanjana get some quality time with the futon while her experiments ran. 

However, now it was plain to see Carlos had traded up. Farewell, potentially blessed futon. Hello, shower with high water pressure.

The shower head even had a little flippy latch that turn it from a wide spray to a heavy blast that felt _amazing_ on her shoulders.

She had her eyes closed and her arms braced on the tile wall to let the shower beat on her lower back before she remembered she was a guest and dinner was being made, and shit.

Hurrying out, she dried off with a folded towel, then... grabbed the bathrobe that was hanging on the hook on the door. There were not a lot of other options; her clothes were still wet enough to leave a small puddle on the floor when she picked them up.  
  


 

Slipping out of the bathroom like a bandit, she looked around, wondering what to do about the mundane yet irritating situation she was in. 

The house was mostly dark, with the exceptions being a light on in the living room, which she could see from where she stood, and another brighter light past it and around the corner. There was the smell of hot food in the air, and she followed that for lack of other options.

In the kitchen was a sizzling pan of something fragrant and hot, manned by Cecil. There was also a kitchen island-- or, no. It was too small to be an island. There was what Nilanjana would generously call a kitchen islet, where Carlos sat, his legs hanging clear off the floor, a metal bowl on his lap. As he sat, he picked at the bowl, plucking out a piece of carrot or snowpea to pop into his mouth.

"If you keep doing that, there'll be none left," Cecil said, glancing at him.

"If you cooked faster," Carlos said, "then I wouldn't be so hungry. Also, vegetables lose much of their nutritional value from being cooked."

He said this while still chewing a carrot. Nilanjana decided right then that she had never been truly in love, because she had never been so fond of someone that she could overlook such a gross habit.

Cecil himself gave Carlos a stern look, but it melted like butter in the desert sun as he looked back and swished at the pan with a wooden spoon. "Well, stop snacking. This is about done." He tipped the contents out into a bowl sitting nearby. Strips of beef, dark and smelling of spices and ponzu sauce. After, he frowned at the pan. "How... vegetarian is Nilanjana? Should I clean the pan? It'll lose all the flavor."

"Not that vegetarian," Nilanjana answered from the entryway, drawing both their gazes. "You can use the same pan."

Immediately, Cecil took the bowl from Carlos, giving him a Look, and upended the vegetables into the pan, going through the process of seasoning everything up.

"There you are," Carlos said, still looking at Nilanjana. "That took you a while."

Cecil cut Nilanjana a conspiratorial glance. She felt a sudden kinship with him, as two people who spent a lot of time around Carlos and were used to his occasional blunt phrasing and lack of internal filter.

"We can dry that for you," Carlos went on, sliding off the islet and to his feet. He took the bundle of wet clothes from her and whisked out of the room, humming to himself.

Nilanjana was left with Cecil as he absently stirred the vegetables and watching her with a completely opaque, cool expression. She checked the tie of her sash before standing on the other side of the islet. Despite the camaraderie that she felt for him, she had no idea what to say and cast around for something less trite than 'Sooo, you and Carlos huh?'

Which would have been terrible and forced her to have to sink into the floor to escape.

Out of nowhere, Cecil smiled. It was brilliant and warm, and much realer than the smile he'd plastered on before at the radio station. "It's fair to say the circumstances were less than ideal, but it's still nice to meet one of Carlos' team. Especially out of the context of some terrible disaster or attack on the town."

"Even when she's been foisted on you by said circumstances and stole your robe?"

"Even so," he said pleasantly. "Anyone important to him is welcome. I would have thought that was clear, given how he sent you to me in the first place."

There was an aura around him, or no, an atmosphere maybe? An atmosphere of calm. His voice was different than usual, on the radio. Without thinking it through too much, she remarked on it: "It's very strange to see you, or I guess hear you, outside your job."

"Oh no, has it spoiled the magic?" He tsked loudly and added some sauce to the vegetables, now watching them more closely. 

"It's not magic. I don't believe in magic. I'm not sure what I would call it, though."

"Magic is the most accurate term, though," Cecil noted idly, now picking out a piece of vegetable to blow on and taste. "Almost done. Carlos always says science is very concerned with figuring out the truth of things. Seems strange to disqualify some answers like that."

"Magic tends to be a temporary answer, one that simplifies a complex truth."

"But Occam's Razor, right?" She blinked and Cecil grinned. "That's, like, one of the four science things I know. And all of them, just from listening to him talk about them."

Occam's Razor wasn't really a _science_ thing, she felt, but didn't mind letting it go. Carlos returned, chirping a friendly "Playing nice?" to them before he started to collect bowls and utensils. Then, dinner was ready, and they adjorned with to the living room.

There was a dining table, but it was piled high with research journals, a few jars of viscous liquids, and a map of Night Vale with a bunch of colorful pins stuck in it. So, they sat by the TV, Cecil and Carlos sitting together on the sofa and Nilanjana gratefully taking the lone armchair. The TV lifted the burden of small talk from the room, allowing them all to eat without interruption in the company of some court drama show she'd never seen before.

Empty bowls set in a cluster on the coffee table, they watched the defense lawyer give her impassioned speech at the end of the show in silence. Nilanjana kept her eyes on the screen, trying not to see the way her boss slumped bonelessly and tactilely onto Cecil. It was such an aberration, it nearly demanded scrutiny; Carlos did not like to be touched, generally speaking, and in his day to day had zero resemblance to this man who seemed to be trying to melt and subsume his body into that of his boyfriend's.

She really was intruding, she knew with a sharp pang. This level of affection and companionship was distant to her, even when compared to memories of her own past relationships.

When the screen when black in the two-seconds of dead air between show and commercials, she could see in the reflection the way Cecil toyed with a long lock of Carlos' hair, idle and unconcerned with personal space.

"I should," she started, then stopped. Her clothes were still drying. Shit.

"You should?" Cecil asked quietly, voice pitched low. She turned to look, not wanting to be rude. 

Carlos' eyes were half-lidded, awake but seeming much like a computer in sleep mode. The gentle hair-touching had him spaced out and checked out. She'd seen him preoccupied of staring off at the distance in deep thought before, but never anything so quiet and still. The feeling of intrusion rose in her again.

_Interloper,_ she thought at herself.

"We have a spare room, right of the bathroom," Cecil said, still speaking softly. "Usually it's for my niece, but if you can stand sleeping on a full, you're welcome to it." She opened her mouth and he cut her off, "If you say the word 'intruding' again, you can walk home in the rain."

He was kidding, but also not. She reconsidered. "Thank you, for everything." She stood; it was extremely early for her to think about turning in, but if she hung around any longer in the ambience of their domestic bliss like a barnacle attached to a pristine ship, she'd break out in hives. "I appreciate spending my night here and not in an interrogation room, all over a pen."

Carlos mumbled something. Cecil took his glasses off with casual familiarity, setting them aside. "We're both happy to help. If you need anything else, let us know. Or me, since it appears Mr. Scientist over here had a long day and needs his nap."

Carlos roused enough to jab Cecil with a finger. Cecil simply caught his hand and held it instead. "Mmpfl. Night, Nils."

"Night, Carlos, Cecil." Happily taking the opportunity, she left them there, escaping to the spare room. Behind her, the TV continued to fill the house with white noise. Less so after she shut the door behind her.  
  


 

In the guest room, the bed was indeed a little small for her, but not enough to be that much of a bother. A scientist knew how to sleep in far more uncomfortable places. 

The curtains in the room were open. She walked over to close them, and glanced outside.

Predictably, on the curb outside was a black van. It was possible they were waiting for a chance to snap her up. Or maybe it was just normal surveillance for the street.

She shut the curtains and crawled into bed, her heart beating with the extended reminder of who she was: an outsider in this town, but sleeping in the safe haven of someone who had also been an outsider like her, once upon a time. It was almost aspirational, she considered as she lay in the dark, waiting for sleep to come for her.

Something to look forward to in this strange, remote little town.


End file.
